State Community Supervision and Corrections Department Supervision Officer Carol Morales' SmartView computer system locates a parolee who wears an electronic monitor. The software indicates a client is at a pawn store on East Amarillo Boulevard, a violation of his parole restrictions.

Young men perform calisthenics under the watchful eye of a drill sergeant-like instructor within the barbed wire-topped fences of the Texas Department of Criminal Justice’s T. L. Roach Unit, the last state-run Offender Boot Camp in Texas.

For 180 days, the lives of the men, ranging in age from 17 to 26, are strictly regimented. They are awakened at the same time every day, eat meals on a strict schedule, exercise and work in the fields. The aim is to shock first-time convicts with the harshness of prison life.

Criminal Justice officials would not permit an Amarillo Globe-News reporter access to the Roach Unit near Childress, but a prison official offered a small glimpse into life behind the fences.

“It involves physical activity and community projects,” said Criminal Justice spokesman Jason Clark. “They have accelerated GED projects over there. They are inmates who are sentenced through the district courts — they are not prison inmates. There are only 30 people in there right now.”

The unit has 400 beds available for the boot camp — 370 remain empty.

Boot camps were the rage nationwide in corrections circles in the late 1980s and early ’90s, but faded away as questions emerged about whether they prevented recidivism.

Studies conducted by the U.S. Justice Department, National Institute of Corrections and academia showed boot camps weren’t effective programs, said Terry Easterling, probation director for Potter, Randall and Armstrong counties.

As the programs closed, a 2003 Justice report, “Correctional Boot Camps: Lessons From a Decade of Research,” concluded that corrections officials should learn from boot camps’ failure to reduce recidivism or prison populations. The report said corrections personnel should emphasize programs to ease offenders’ re-entry or re-integration into their communities. Corrections systems should offer more treatment programs, the report said.

The camps evolved from early ’80s Scared Straight programs, said Easterling said, but probation officials remain divided about their effectiveness.

“It’s up to judges, probation officers and district attorneys whether (offenders) are sentenced to boot camp,” said Marci Mills, a probation officer for Hall, Donley, Carson, Collingsworth and Childress counties. “We think maybe we can correct some behaviors — show them this is what your life could be like if you don’t change your ways.”

Boot camp can be effective in persuading young offenders to avoid legal trouble, Mills said.

Easterling said others disagree.

“Robert Dawson, a University of Texas law professor, said what boot camp did was take flabby, out-of-shape, slow burglars, and turned them into healthy, fast burglars,” Easterling said.

The idea was to give the offenders self respect, he said. The courts released offenders back into their old environments, where they fell into their past habits.

Judge John Board, 181st District Court, once sent offenders to boot camps regularly, he said, but it had been seven or eight years ago.

“I’m not sure how effective they really were,” Board said. “We sent young people who we thought would benefit from it. When they got out, they had their military haircuts. I’d ask them questions and they’d answer, ‘Sir, yes sir.’ I was impressed. Three months later we’d have them back.”

The program has had so little attention, many officials didn’t realize it was still operating. Clark, Board and 47th District Attorney Randall Sims said they were unaware the program was still available until they were quizzed about it.

Childress attorney Steve Bird has represented several young men who have been through the program with varying degrees of success.

“If it’s something that they’re not so heavy into drugs or they had a small theft or shoplifting, then I’d say the boot camp opens their eyes,” Bird said. “They say ‘I don’t want to go back there.’ A lot of times when they’ve been on the drug scene all their lives they go back to it.”

“We found that about 75 percent of probation offenders had drug or alcohol problems. Boot camp doesn’t deal with addiction issues,” Easterling said.

Criminal Justice has several “lockdown facilities” where offenders can receive treatment or concentrate on behavior modification, Board said.

Intermediate Sanction Facilities often include a substance abuse component, community service restitution, education and life-skills programs, Clark said. Offenders are sent to the facilities for between 160 and 180 days in lieu of revoking parole or probation if they’ve violated the conditions of their sentences, he said.

Four intermediate facilities in Texas had 2,377 beds for offenders as of Nov. 30, Clark said. One of the facilities, in the Pampa Baten Unit, had about 420 beds, he said.

“We’re not looking to revoke (parole or probation),” Mills said. “We’re doing everything we can to keep the offenders out of the prison system. If we feel it’s necessary, we’ll send them.”